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Continue reading →: November
Memory of November Remind me of monsoonal Rains and no power And by the light Of a crackling fire On paper and with Pen writing letters meant To be read. With paper and a pen.
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Continue reading →: Snow
The gray sky loweredto meet the horizonyou gave me A pretzel A unique Split The salt teased my tongueSuddenly a deafeningrumbleSo quiet asthe salt lingeredA brave dry leaf clung toa tree limbas a cold not quitefreezing breezestirred thefirst autumnalSnowflake so it begins
Hello,
I’m Mark
His friends observe Mark seems wired a little differently. Perhaps it’s more likely that noticing little things often missed by others is a relic of a quieter, simpler time. He has a way with words, which he refuses to let be hindered by sub-par typing skills. People have great stories to tell if you sit and listen.
A belief dear to Mark is that there is certain beauty in the world. You simply have to look for it.
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